


you were dying since the day you were born

by cowboytime (thegoatz)



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Chapter 2: Horseshoe Overlook (Red Dead Redemption 2), Character Study, Doubt, Dubious Morality, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Guilt, Hurt Arthur Morgan, Near Death, Questioning oneself, Self-Doubt, Suicidal Ideation, also it is kind of a, bc all my faves are neurodivergent babey, death mentions, the tiniest bit of, this whole fic is just centred around that One tag-
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 09:42:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25348663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegoatz/pseuds/cowboytime
Summary: Dutch knows there's no point denying it. He'll damn the whole earth if it means that he can keep his family safe.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Dutch van der Linde, Dutch van der Linde & Van der Linde Gang, Hosea Matthews & Dutch van der Linde, Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde (background), by background i just mean that its not like the main focus of the fic
Kudos: 44





	you were dying since the day you were born

You were dying since the day you were born.

Dutch knew this, hell, _everyone_ knew this, it was common knowledge.

You are put on this earth, you live and then you die.

That's the way it is.

That's the way it will always be.

Thousands of people die every day, countless people swallowed up into the gates of hell without a memory of them left on the planet. Forgotten forever. It was such a pitiful thought. 

Dutch will die, and by how their luck had been running recently, sooner rather than later, and so will the people he loves. And with their deaths, the memory of him will die with them. He will be forgotten, his existence made into nothing. What is the point of living if people will not remember you? What makes life meaningful if it is not to be remembered?

In the end, Dutch found that it was fruitless to try and find meaning in something that had none.

But at first, he did. He tried so hard to find meaning in the world and to be a good person in a world that lacked them. He tried to leave a positive impact on the world, to be remembered as a kind person, who did kind things, but it seems all his good deeds could not outweigh the bad ones. And soon he found that he couldn't be a good person and keep the ones he loved safe at the same time, no matter how hard he tried. Life is cruel like that.

He thought he had accepted it long ago: he thought he had accepted that if he wanted to keep his family safe, he'd have to do bad things.

But that didn't make him a bad man, _right?_ Then again, he feels like he had crossed the line between good and bad long, long, ago and was just running from what he already knew. Because sometimes it feels like he stopped being a good man all those years ago. Hosea could barely look at him; couldn't even talk to him without causing an argument, and that alone should have told him what he already knew.

Whilst Arthur was never a talkative person, it seems like he only grew more distant - but late at night, when nearly everyone was huddled around the campfire, it seemed like Arthur was the loudest person there. Even Molly, the woman who was completely and utterly infatuated with him gave him the cold shoulder, and Dutch well... he felt so lost.

Every plan he had seemingly made things worse than before, and he had never felt so inadequately prepared to lead the gang.

Arthur had gotten shot on Dutch's last plan, and for a moment, Dutch had thought he was dead. And for those few seconds, Dutch's whole world had crashed down around him. Arthur was currently holed up in his tent, and Hosea had looked at him like he protested the thought of Dutch even seeing him, but Dutch had persisted, because he was nothing if not persuasive, and managed to talk to him.

Arthur was still his same distant self from before, and Dutch hadn't expected anything else, but, hell, he'd take cold and distant Arthur over a dead and rotting one any day of the week. But he can't lie that Arthur's injury shook him more than he thought it would.

He's sat alone in his tent, Molly had gone away somewhere, and Dutch couldn't lie, he didn't really care. A part of him is disgusted by the thought, but his mind is too preoccupied with other things. Dutch would like to say that he was good at thinking, but sometimes his brain thinks about things that he'd much rather just try and forget.

Like in this instance, it keeps reminding him that Arthur almost died. That his boy, the boy he raised from so young, that _his son_ , had almost died, and it was arguably because he knows that there are a few people would gladly argue that it was Dutch's fault.

Arthur had almost died, and he still, _still_ , won't talk to him like he used to. Still, after Dutch had been so convinced that Arthur was dead that he was fuelled with so much hate, so much anger, that he killed everyone in sight in a matter of minutes, in ways crueller than he would care to admit. It seems that the people on the other end of his gun constantly forgot that he wasn't just skilled with his tongue.

Dutch had run over to him, what felt like, faster than he had run for anything, and was met with that same, icy, blunt, "I'm fine."

Dutch felt like he was going to go insane.

All the way back to camp, back to _home_ , Dutch had fretted all over him, and Arthur had pushed him away, telling him that he was as okay as he could be. Arthur had been so cruelly cold, and Dutch had pretended to ignore how when back at camp Arthur had allowed people to help him, and coddle him, and fret over him like it was nothing, just after he had so mercilessly rejected Dutch's own worries.

What had he done?

The inside of his tent carries a chill that makes him shiver. A while ago, his cigarette burnt his hand because he forgot he lit it. In the distance, he hears an owl hooting. After Arthur's near death, it feels like Dutch had become so hauntingly aware of his, or Arthur's, of Hosea's, of _everyone's_ mortality. It feels like every sense, every feeling is heightened because when he dies, he will lose all of this. When he is dead, he won't feel the midnight breeze that makes him shiver. When he is dead, he won't feel the searing pain in his hand of a lit cigarette burning his fingers. When he is dead, he won't get to hear the owls hooting in the distance while his world sleeps.

Death is such a strange concept to him.

He is by no means unfamiliar with it. Quite the contrary. His first remembrance of death was finding out that his father had been killed in the war. It had broken him and had made his relationship with his mother even more frayed. His mother... well she wasn't exactly a _good_ mother. He supposes somehow he still loved her and she still loved him in their own strange ways, but when he found out she had died too, he hadn't shed a single tear. Hell, he almost laughed at the fact that she was buried in Blackwater, the very place they had had been chased from and had wondered if he had maybe ridden past her grave as they barely escaped.

He didn't have any family other than them and had eventually made his own, and now that he had them, _god_ , he doesn't know what he would do if he lost them.

Arthur had gotten too damn close to the other side for his liking, and it struck him harder than he thought it would.

He thinks back to all those people he killed, heedlessly, without even thinking, when he saw Arthur go down. Death happens every day, so does it truly matter who it is? What is no-one to him, is a lover or a sibling or a parent or a friend to someone else. What is no-one to someone else, is family to him. Does he _truly_ get to play judge, jury and executioner when it comes to people's lives? Does he _deserve_ to take a life to protect the ones of the people he loved?

What makes him more important than anyone else?

When he truly thinks about it. There's _nothing_.

He is a human being. He is temporary. Eventually, he will die. And yet despite that, somehow, somewhere along the way through life, he had become the leader for the gang. He has people who rely on him. He has people that he loves, that he cares about. And when it comes to that, he doesn't give a single damn about anyone else, because making sure that they're still breathing is all he cares about. Sure, maybe he's a bad man. Sure, the people at camp might not look at him the same way as they did before. But they're alive. Barely alive, _but alive nonetheless._

He just wishes he could get Arthur and Hosea to talk to him like they did before.

Hell, he could even _kill_ for it.

Dutch looks down at the bottle in his hand, and wait... since when had he been drinking? How long has he been sat there a bottle in hand? Had it been hours? No, it couldn't have. The owl is still hooting, and the chill still makes him shiver, and his hand still burns from the cigarette.

How much had he drunk?

Too much apparently, and _god_ , he really needs to get better at handling his alcohol.

If only his mother could see him now. She'd probably laugh in his face.

The air inside the tent is suddenly getting too warm, and he finds himself missing the chill. He gets up and steps outside, instantly basking in the cool air. His legs are moving without him telling them to, but he really can't bring himself to argue. The camp is silent, and Dutch finds himself thankful; doesn't know if he could bear to talk to him when in this state, all caught up in his mind, unable to clear his thoughts for just a second.

His feet suddenly stop moving, and he thinks for a second why before he sees it.

Arthur is sat at the edge of camp, legs dangling over the cliff edge, staring out into the darkness. Dutch can faintly see the bandage wrapped around his wound from beneath his collar. He briefly wonders why Arthur isn't asleep, but then again, sleep doesn't come easy for people like them.

Dutch leans against a tree, keeping his eyes trained on Arthur's back, unsure of whether to make his presence known or not.

"You should talk to him, Dutch," a voice behind him says, making him jump.

He doesn't even have to turn around to tell that it's Hosea. Dutch takes his attention away from Arthur and turns it to the trees in front of him. He can't even bear to look at Hosea and feels his jaw clench.

"I have tried talking to him, Hosea. Countless times, but he doesn't want to listen."

"Maybe you need to try harder."

Dutch laughs, cold and dry and _bitter_. Loud enough so that Arthur might hear, but at this point, Dutch doesn't really care if he does, "try harder?"

Dutch turns his head to look at Hosea now, can see under the moonlight that his eyes look so tired, and he knows his own are just the same.

"I've been trying my goddamned best to talk to him, Hosea. You know I have. Anytime I try and talk to him, he brushes me away. And don't act like _you_ haven't been doing the same."

Dutch's tone is venomous now, acidic. And he knows that he shouldn't be saying this, but well, he _really_ can't handle his alcohol.

"We're scared, Dutch. Seems like every place we go there's an army of Pinkertons or O'Driscolls waiting for us. People are getting hurt, Arthur damn near _died_ -"

"Don't you think I know that, Hosea. You weren't there. You don't know how goddamned scared I was of losing our son. I need you two now, more than I ever have before, and now is the time that you two turn your backs on me."

"Dutch, we ain't turning our backs on you."

"Then why don't you just talk to me."

Dutch's voice is... well, it's something Hosea hasn't heard in a long time. Dutch's eyes are wide and honest, hauntingly so, and Hosea couldn't bear to look at them, turning his attention to Arthur.

"Things are different now, Dutch," Hosea says, his voice impossibly soft, as if that clears everything up, but all it does it make Dutch even more confused.

"We're not the same people," Hosea continues when Dutch doesn't manage to reply, "and _you_ -" Hosea pauses and his eyes flutter up to meet Dutch's own once more, "-you've changed more than anyone."

Dutch swallows thickly, and well... he always thought he was good at thinking, but now his brain fails him, and he stands there, brow furrowed and mouth parted as he stares at the ground.

"People are always changing, Hosea," Dutch finally says.

Hosea tilts his head as he says, "some for good and some for bad."

Dutch wets his lips, "which one am I?"

Hosea gives him a sad smile, "I'm sure we'll find out eventually."

Dutch inhales a breath that's shakier than he'd care to admit. Hosea pats his arm lightly, and Dutch relishes in the touch, and jerks his head in the direction where Arthur was still sitting, "talk to him."

Hosea is turning around before Dutch could even think of a response, and he's once again, standing there alone with only his thoughts. He feels like his head is going to explode, and he's walking over to Arthur without even meaning to because he just can't bear to be alone with his thoughts for just a second longer.

"Can I join you?" Dutch says as he nears. 

Arthur doesn't jump and doesn't even respond, instead just shrugs his shoulder. Dutch will take what he could get, and sits down next to him, legs dangling over the cliff edge, and when you're sat right on the edge the fall seems much bigger than it does when you're a few feet away.

Countless impulses flood his mind, but he ignores them all and turns his attention to Arthur, who still looks straight ahead.

He decides there's no point beating around the bush.

"Have I changed, Arthur?"

Dutch sees Arthur's brows raise for just a split second in the dark.

"Not at all, Dutch."

A lie.

Dutch fails to hide his scoff, "don't bullshit me, Arthur. Thought I could rely on you to set me straight when I go astray."

Arthur looks away, and Dutch can see his jaw clench.

"Do you remember Heidi?"

Dutch's brow furrows by Arthur's sudden question, and it's getting increasingly hard to swallow past the lump in his throat.

"Of course I do, Arthur."

"She was a mother," Arthur says, his voice hard, "had a young kid."

Dutch looks down at the fall beneath their feet, and can't help how his fingers grip the stone they're sat on so tightly that he feels his fingers might break.

Arthur continues, "it ain't like you to do something so... so reckless like that."

"Arthur if I could go back in time and stop myself from killing her, I would. And I did a stupid thing, but I did it to protect us. You think I want Jack to grow up without a father? You think I want to watch Hosea be driven to the bottle, knowing damn well that this time it'll kill him because he saw another person he loved die?"

Arthur turns to look at him for what feels like the first time in forever, "we need you, Dutch. Don't damn us all by making another stupid decision."

Dutch let out a laugh, hollow-sounding despite how genuine he tries to make it, "I wouldn't dream of it, my son. This gang is all I have."

They both sit in silence after that, and as they sit side by side, Dutch can't help but think back to his time spent in solitude in his tent; can't help but think back to all the anxiety-ridden questions. He thinks back to one in particular.

_What makes life meaningful if it not to be remembered?_

The answer is so simple that Dutch had to bite back another hollow laugh. It had been staring him completely in the face for all these years.

Family.

Family makes life meaningful.

Dutch knows there's no point denying it. He'll damn the whole earth if it means that he can keep his family safe.


End file.
